


Whumptober Prompt - 12

by Skostbuster



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Whump, Whumptober 2019, an attempt was made oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skostbuster/pseuds/Skostbuster
Summary: The venom trickling out of Gabriel’s words could have easily wiped out the population of a small city if given the opportunity, instead settling for drenching itself in an invisible coat over the demon’s crumpled body.





	Whumptober Prompt - 12

Don’t move.”

  


The venom trickling out of Gabriel’s words could have easily wiped out the population of a small city if given the opportunity, instead settling for drenching itself in an invisible coat over the demon’s crumpled body. With his only good eye, Crowley struggled to keep his focus on the shards of glass and tangled bits of metal that led to his prized Bentley, now lying pitifully on her side, the beginning scene of an ambush in the dead of night along the outskirts of London.

  


A choked groan toppled from the demon’s bloodied lips as he pulled his mangled hand inward, the groan erupting in a hiss of agony once the heel of Gabriel’s shoe dug into his wrist with a precise strike. A particularly sharp shard stabbed itself past his sleeve and deep into his arm; it took all of his wilting energy to hold back a shudder. No matter what, he would Fall again and again before he’d give the Archangel that satisfaction. 

  


Gabriel chuffed, twisting his heel to and fro into the demon’s skin. “My, you demons are absolutely pathetic when it comes to following orders. Then again, if you weren’t you’d still be Above with the rest of us, hm?” He stepped back to admire the view, pursing his lips, then swiftly kicked Crowley’s shoulder. In an instant, Crowley found his hazy gaze staring up at a mess of black and gray streaks before a muddled silhouette leaned in from the side. 

  


“Now, you’ll do fine if you stay just… like… that,” Gabriel mumbled, gesturing his hands as if he were directing his own film. “Oh, that…  _ That _ is perfect! For once, you’re doing something worthwhile with your waste of an existence. Aziraphale’s going to get a kick out of this, I just know it. Too bad you won’t be there for the main event.”

  


“If you so much as even look in his direction, I’ll rip your eyes out and drown them in the nearest pool of sulfur I can find before I spend eternity tearing each and every feather off your wings,” was what Crowley roared in his head and rested on his tongue. 

  


Rather, hoarsely, he said, “Your halo might… m-might still be whole, but beneath your holier-than-thou sh-shell you’re no better than those you l-loathe Below. When She turns, turns away from y-you, you’ll fit right in with them, and I can’t wait to be there for your welc-welcoming par--”

  


_ Wham! _

  


The tip of Gabriel’s foot was deadly in its aim as it met Crowley’s side and a howl broke free from clenched teeth, a shaky hand attempting to clamp down and nurse the blow. Only one finger managed to hook itself into his shirt as the other digits hung limp and useless.

  


Gabriel moved as if he were preparing for another, stopping mid-step to collect himself for a passing second and tugging on the lapels of his jacket. “You’re starting to push boundaries that never end well for your stock, but you’re one of the few lucky ones. I’m still in a good mood, demon Crowley, and I really intend to keep it that way when I pop in to see your traitorous friend. And, if I’m going to be honest, you’d do good to keep my mood good for his sake.”

  


At that, Crowley could have sworn he saw a twinkle of malice flash through the cold, violet eyes of the Archangel, and that flash was enough for a painful chill to run through the demon’s blood. 

  


“Where was I… Ah!” Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley nearly flinched. “That’s right, that’s right! Where did I put that, ah-ha.” Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and fished out a clunky, ancient thing, a camera, and a wide, crooked smile broke out over his face. Inside, Crowley wished the crash damaged both eyes.

  


“Now, if you’ll be a good, well, you can’t possibly be good, figure of speech… Ah, just lay there. I was thinking, maybe if I do this…” Carefully he pressed his shoe against Crowley’s throat, then frowned and pulled it away. “No, no, that won’t do. How about we try  _ this _ instead.”

  


Of all the situations he could have imagined up, and there were a lot of them, the Archangel’s heel crashing into his chest was in his top five. His attempt to cry sputtered out as a weak growl, but it failed to reach even his own ears and fell to the soaked concrete. Gabriel pressed his foot hard into Crowley’s chest, tilting his head left and right as he waved the camera vaguely in his grip.

  


A bright, stinging flash struck Crowley’s eye and he hissed lowly, jerking his head away at the following snaps. Gabriel tutted, and for a moment Crowley was sure he’d go flying off the road and into the River Thames. Yet his body remained still and acquainted with the ground, and more importantly, dry with the exception of the blood trickling from open wounds and the thin film of rainwater drenching his back. 

  


“Oh, now these are just... perfect.” Gabriel stepped back, stomping down on the demon’s hand as he turned away. “I’m not sure which one’s better, which one to use. Then again, why not all. I picked up a lovely saying from the humans recently, ‘misery loves company’. I have a good, good feeling Aziraphale is going to really need these once I’m done with him.”

  


“Do-don’t… dare… ge-get ne…” Crowley broke out in a painful cough, the taste of copper splashing against his tongue.

  


“As much as I’d just adore pummeling your damned soul to its last inch of life, that task is in the hands of your fellow stock. They’ll be here soon to drag you back to where you belong, and I for one can’t wait to see the results they’re promising when they’re done with you.”

  


Above, the black blurs vanished among a sea of grey. In the distance, a faint roar of thunder boomed through the skies before a cold drop of rain splattered on a cut along Crowley’s forehead. Gabriel barely graced the growing clouds with a glance, but the sight was enough for the corners of his lips to drop. 

  


“Huh. Time really does fly when you’re having fun, I completely forgot they were on the way. Ah well. Gotta say, this encounter? Really fun, especially for me! Hope we get to do this again sometime later. Oh, but before I forget…”

  


Silence reigned over, and Crowley risked to turn his head. The last thing he saw before darkness enveloped his world was the tip of Gabriel’s leather shoe swinging at his face.

  


~ ~ ~

  


When Crowley came to, he was greeted with the soft melodies of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Hymn of the Cherubim’ floating through the air. The phonograph was close to his person, but he was sure even the lightest of sleepers wouldn’t have been bothered by its soothing harmonies filling the room. He shifted under the thick quilt draped over his body and sank deeper into the goose down pillow with a soft sigh.

  


Wait.

  


At that, his eyes snapped open, and the muddled world he once remembered transformed into a small bedroom decorated in tacky floral paintings and wallpaper littered with blue birds and flower petals. All signs of the road, his Bentley, the Archangel, gone. A stream of sunlight poured through a window beside his bed, illuminating the eyesore of the fat birds, and he moved to sit up with his hand shielding his eyes.

  


He succeeded in barely pushing himself away from the mattress when an explosion of pain rolled through him and he dropped back with a dull thud, wrapping his arms frailly around his torso. A cold sweat broke over his skin, his eyes drooping closed. 

  


“Easy, my dear. Don’t move.”

  


A sudden, cool cloth dabbed at his skin, a gentle hand falling onto his shoulder. Crowley shuddered at a sharp throb before he braved an eye to open, then another as Aziraphale appeared at his side, worry swimming in his wide eyes before he eased himself on the edge of the bed. 

  


“A-Aziraphale…?!” Crowley croaked. “What are…”

  


“Oh Crowley, I’m so sorry. I wanted to heal your injuries, but both Above and Below are on high alert for the both of us… any miracle’s going to give away our position.” Aziraphale reached and adjusted the pillows, helping Crowley into a sitting position and taking care not to upset his wounds. 

  


“My…?” Realization hit him like a crowbar. “Ga… Gabriel! He--”

  


“Yes, I had a feeling he was up to… other things. I sensed Sandalphon and Uriel scouting my bookshop for some time, and I knew it was a matter of time before…” He gestured to Crowley. “When I heard talk of an accident out on the Barge Walk I, well, that confirmed my suspicions. As far as Heaven and Hell are both concerned, we’re holed somewhere tight in London, so I’m afraid we’ll need to lie beneath until they call off the hunt.”

  


Crowley couldn’t hold back a scowl, shaking his head. “It’s ‘lay low’, angel, for… Doesn’t matter. They’ll destroy your bookshop, and… w-wait, my Bentley…!”

  


“Your automobile is  _ fine, _ dear, it was risky, but I miracled it back in shape after Gabriel left and before Hell showed up. And as for my bookshop, they may view humans as insignificant specks, but even angels aren’t stupid enough to cause any trouble with a festival happening day after day in Soho. Besides…” The angel gave a small squeeze to Crowley’s shoulder before moving his hand up to his cheek. “I may be fond of my books, but they hardly compare to your safety, Crowley.” 

  


“Ngh,” uttered Crowley, his face turning warm, but didn’t pull away from the angel’s touch. “I’m glad they didn’t get you, angel. What that shithead Gabriel did to me would have been l-light compared to what he had in store for you.”

  


Aziraphale offered a small smile, his thumb rubbing along Crowley’s skin. “You let me worry about Gabriel, dear. For now, please get your rest. You’ve watched over my well-being all these years, and it’s about time I start repaying the debt.”

  


“S’no debt, you idiot,” Crowley said, an exhausted smile playing on his face before slumping into the pillows. His eyelids grew heavy, and before he knew it the quilt was comfortably over his body once again. “Angel.”

  


“Yes, dear?”

  


“If w’re not in London, where the Heaven are we?”

  


“Ah, yes! Some weeks ago, a customer came in eyeing my Chaucer collection. Young customer, but she was stubborn in wanting it, she kept bringing up how she was about to come into a large sum of money in the following wee… Oh dear, I’m rambling. She mentioned spending years in an area called the South Downs, and after what happened in Tadfield, well, one could say I got curious about the place.”

  


“Sounds nice,” Crowley mumbled, the chains of sleep dragging him downward. “Angel.”

  


“Hm?”

  


“How’d we ge’here?”

  


“Oh, yes! Before I answer, I need you to promise you won’t be mad…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I showed up late to Whumptober with a Starbucks whaddup


End file.
